[fic] The Old Republic: Queen of Hearts

[mshcherbatskaya]

Cain was happy.

 

This was not unheard of.

 

It would be more accurate to say that Cain was quite content, but happy sufficed, and thus, Cain was happy.

 

Cain was happy for a reason: he had received a note, a very, very impersonal note, informing him that he, amongst many others, now had permission to visit Erzabet. This, in essence, was both the cause of the aforementioned happiness, but also a great deal of anxiety.

 

Cain had, in her absence, placed this woman on a pedestal so high that he could barely see the person beyond the reverence he gave her. To actually see her in person seemed almost...wrong, as if it would defile this empress he had constructed in his own mind. Cain spent roughly six seconds debating it, and then took off in the direction of the holding cells. Cain was not a philosopher by nature.

 

As he walked down the corridor that lead to Erzabet's cell, he passed Ythros. Cain had never really grasped the concept of Ythros, never really understood the being that was an embodiment of all things pain. Therefore he tried not to think about the man made of scar tissue as he passed him and entered the cell, and sat, cross legged, on front of the force-field, face locked onto the floor.

 

Erzabet, who sat on the far side of the bed, considered Cain for a moment, tipping her head to the side with the same slight, amused smile as when they met.

 

"Yes?"

 

He shifted awkwardly on the hard stone, and muttered a reply, "I'm allowed to come in here, now."

 

She raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, still amused. "Ah, well, I suppose that explains your presence, then. The scarred man, do you know him?"

 

Cain raised his head, still without eye contact, "Yes, I know of him. I don't know what is beneath the scars, but I know of Ythros. He is confusing."

 

"Yes he is. He stared at me for hours and said nothing."

 

"I do not think he is used to...words. It is not hard to see he deals in blood, not emotion. He enjoys warfare - that much I know, and I respect that."

 

"Do you? And do you also deal in blood rather than emotion?"

 

Cain frowned, and considered this. He could not tell if she was mocking him or not, and chose to be honest. "During the Mandalorian Wars, I tried to bring both warfare and emotion to the front lines, although I seem to have lost them both now. When I was at war, I was happy, but that was too long ago now."

 

"Happy in the war? That is not what I understand of the Jedi. Why did you leave?"

 

"There was...a conflict, of opinions. These halls are empty compared to what they were. We did not leave the war, it, and Revan, left us."

 

A look of contempt crossed Cain's face as he continued. "It is now fought in secrecy, all data and and subterfuge. The war is internal now, and that is why none have returned. Even if the Jedi were still what they were, they would not be accepted. The Revanchists have been replaced with politicians. There is no one to fight now that the Mandalorians are all but gone, so I deal in nothing."

 

"No one to fight? What of the Sith? Surely their warfare is more than data?"

 

Cain laughed at this. "What Sith? Even they seem content to fight each other more than us. You are the first 'Sith' I have seen since Malachor, so if there are Sith to fight, they have not presented themselves to me. There are those fortunate enough to be combating that threat. But I am not one of them...I should be, but I am not."

 

Erzabet rose a moment, and moved closer to the force-field before sitting again; "Why not?"

 

Cain clenched his fists; "Because the Jedi Council has ordained that I have clearly had too much of war and would be better suited working a desk. It is amazing that they even let me keep my lightsaber, and my armour has not been worn in far too long. It is shameful, to both me and them, that I am left here to file reports and document meaningless events, in a job that does not even have a title. I should be cutting swaths through the front lines of any enemy that threatens us, not stuck in a lobby."

 

"You should be careful, Jedi. You talk like a Sith. Believe me, I know."

 

This was offensive to Cain, but he tried not to show this. How successful he was, he could not say, but he kept his reply calm and considerate.

 

"Not at all. The purpose of a Jedi is to preserve justice. That is the fundamental basis of civilization. It cannot stand without justice and order, and to preserve that we need peace. We cannot have peace with enemies hounding us. I am no philosopher, however - I just point my weapon where I am told."

 

Cain no longer felt this was true. In her presence he felt as if his opinion did matter. She listened to him and no one had listened to Cain's opinion in a long time.

 

Whether Erzabet saw this or not, she certainly seemed pleased with his words. She smiled and she seemed almost teasing in her reply. "You speak of peace but long for war--are you sure you are a Jedi?" Cain tried to consider this, but was interrupted.

 

"Peace through Strength," she said, "Strength through Conflict?"

 

And, again, before he could reply,

 

"Is Peace a lie, Jedi?"

 

And Cain did not know, at least, not at first. It took several moments under her gaze before he could even think straight, let alone formulate a reply, and when he did, it was far less reserved and calm than he had wished.

 

"No, no, it is not - it is just...far off. Waiting, for...unification? I am a Jedi - it is them, the pretenders, those that would rather wield a pen than a lightsaber, those that took me, and saw me for what I was - a guardian, a warrior - and caged me in that lobby. Not because of any battle, or war, or skirmish - they envied me, because whilst I was helping to destroy the Mandalorian threat, protecting the innocent, they were fretting behind their desks, still deciding whether or not to let the entire galaxy fall under tyranny. They saw that I, and the entire Revanchist Movement, were living lives that they were afraid to consider, and so they swept me under the carpet, too terrible a sight to behold for the bureaucrats."

 

He paused. He would have spat if he had not been in her presence, and his fists were still clenched tight. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his body and tried to center himself as he continued.

 

"I am a Jedi. But I am also a realist. Strength is required to maintain order and preserve unity, yes, and conflict is the easiest, simplest way of doing so. It is not the only way, but as much as the Council would deny, conflict is, and has always been, our way - righteous, justified conflict. This order is descended from what became strong peacekeepers and guardians, and I adhere to that tradition. We inspire those that cannot fight, we fill them with awe, and we have a responsibility to protect these people. Conflict against the Mandalorians was past necessary, it was demanded, utterly required by the loss of life. I am a Jedi, I have strength, and I will use that to strive for the peace that is still so very far off, whether these pathetic bureaucrats agree with me or not."

 

Erzabet had stayed utterly calm, still and collected despite Cain's admittedly spiteful outburst. "Then why do you still serve them? I understand many have left the order. Why do you stay?"

 

Cain's eyes fell to the floor again. "Because...because for all my strength, I am still weak. There is nothing for me out there, and I still hold hope that there is a chance, a small chance, but a chance nonetheless that the Council will stop this gradual decline. I am too lost for the Jedi, but I will never fall into the utter darkness they fear. I will get my hands dirty, but I will never become the evil they warn against, and therefore I cannot join the Sith. I am in between both, and there is no organization of exiles, no order of fallen Jedi, and I am far from a leader...I have no where else to go."

 

When she replied, Erzabet's tone was sympathetic, so much so that Cain felt compelled to turn his head high, to make eye contact.

 

"I understand. Truly."

 

Cain looked at the force-field and chuckled slightly. "Yes, I guess you do...why are you here? Really?"

 

A sad smile turned across Erzabet's mouth. "Because I am weak, because there is nothing for me among the Sith, I have gotten my hands dirty, but I can never surrender to the destruction they worship, and therefore cannot remain among the Sith. I am in between both, and there is no organization of exiles, no order of repentant Sith...I have nowhere else to go."

 

Maintaining eye contact for the first time since entering, Cain pondered this, and surprised himself with his own reply, "There could be. You could make one. There are certainly enough fallen Jedi out there. It is...conceivable."

 

She nodded. "Perhaps. I tried to create a different path among the Sith, a path of unity rather than conflict. I did not fail - rather, I was too successful, and drew the attention of other Sith Lords. I became a danger to my people, so I had to leave them. You are not the only one in between the two orders. There are many such among the Sith. I simply welcomed them. I gave them a place and, I hope, a purpose. To find strength in unity rather than conflict. Instead of a mass of individuals, we acted as one. I thought the Jedi would perhaps be sympathetic, but I think they only seek to satisfy themselves as to the threat I pose to them, not to understand."

 

"Then why do you stay? If they are not what you thought, why remain?"

 

She laughed, and gestured towards the force-field, "I have been persuaded to accept their hospitality for a while longer..." Her face turned far more serious before she added, "And no one leaves the Sith and lives. My life is forfeit if I leave this place."

 

Cain rose, and, as he turned, muttered back to Erzabet, "Not if you leave with the right people."

 

...

 

Corev opened his eyes to stare at the wall across from him. It was dark in the room which meant he had been meditating for a few hours at least. He rose to his feet and groaned at the pain in his legs - not as young as he used to be. Using the Force to flick on the light switch he walked over to the closet and put on his uniform, then as he left the room, he used to to turn off the light and shut the door. Some would consider such things to be a frivolous use of his ability, but it was a simple way to keep in practice and he had to admit, he took a child-like pleasure in even such a simple trick.

 

He made his way down the illuminated hallway to the turbo lift and pushed the button for the floor where the Jedi kept their 'special' prisoners. The lift descended and after a couple of seconds it beeped indicating that he had reached the requested floor. It was late and few people roamed the halls of the Jedi temple. The few that did would not be on this level however. This level was reserved for the Sith prisoners of the Jedi. It had been empty for a long time, right up until the strange Sith woman gave herself up to the Jedi. Now the level contained her and the few guards that were assigned to her. Corev walked down the stone hallway, his footsteps breaking the usual silence. He arrived at the desk where a bored Jedi stood guard. "Hello Master Jedi. I would like to see the prisoner."

 

"Could I see your credentials?"

 

"Certainly." He handed them across the counter

 

.

 

The Jedi looked them over before nodding, "Corev Saal. Republic Officer. Your name is here. Please follow me."

 

The guard pressed a button on the door. It hissed open and the Jedi signaled for Corev to go in. "I'll be out here if you need me."

 

He walked over to her cell and looked past the glowing barrier in between them. She was awake and turned to look at him as he approached.

 

"Hello. I came down to see if you were comfortable."

 

She smiled slightly, seeming surprised that he would show concern for her. "Yes, very. Thank you." She paused before continuing, "You must have been very concerned about my comfort, if it cost you your night's sleep."

 

"Oh it is not the only thing that was keeping me awake."

 

"Really?" She cocked her head slightly. "Do you have a great many worries?"

 

He sighed, "Of late, yes I do. What about you? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

 

"I do not sleep." Her face remained neutral as she said it. She was merely stating a fact.

 

He was surprised and showed it. "You do not sleep? How do you function?"

 

"I meditate instead."

 

He himself meditated a lot and knew it was no substitute for sleep. "Meditation can't possibly give you what sleep would."

 

"No it does not. It gives me no dreams."

 

He raised an eyebrow. "No dreams? You do not want dreams?"

 

"No. No dreams. No nightmares."

 

There is a slight pause before he replied, "You have a lot of nightmares?"

 

"Only when I sleep."

 

There was something final in her tone and he decided to change the subject. "Earlier you said the Sith showed you the only kindness you ever knew. What did you mean by that?"

 

"I was a slave. They freed me and showed me I need never be a slave again."

 

"Why would the Sith free you?" He has never heard of the Sith showing compassion to slaves.

 

"Because I demonstrated my strength in the Force. And because I used it to defeat my master."

 

"That would certainly draw the Sith. But I overheard some Jedi mention you were not strong in the Force. Why would the Sith be interested?" It was just like the Sith to only do it for the reward but how much of a reward was she, what made her so special?

 

"The Sith know that strong emotion increases one's power in the Force.

 

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall free me.

 

And it did. In that moment, my emotions were very, very strong and in that moment, the Force, and the Sith, freed me."

 

"I see. How did you rise so high then? Your emotions could not always be as strong as they were at that moment." She was a most curious person.

 

"No, that is true, but I was taught subtlety as well as strength. Appetite for power, strength through pain, victory by cunning - these are things the Sith teach all their students."

 

Her answer isn't really the answer he wanted. There was more to it then she is telling him. "You must be very cunning indeed to gain the loyal support of so many."

 

"Cunning to conceal the weakness, perhaps. I merely saw a lack in the Sith, in their philosophy, and filled it."

 

"And these Sith following you were willing to follow you just because of this?" That couldn't be all of it, it couldn't be that simple.

 

"They too saw the lack, and the opportunity it created. And the protection offered by the solution to this failure of the Sith teachings."

 

"You say the Sith teachings were lacking. How so?"

 

Her voice dropped with disapproval as she explained, "The Sith compete endlessly. Every Sith seeks to kill the one above them, to take their place. This constant strife, this constant turmoil, weakens them. You see it even now. When they could be taking the Galaxy by storm, instead they waste their strength fighting among themselves. Even if they were direct their bloodlust at the Republic rather than each other, even then, they would fail. To rule is to control. Control requires order. Conflict creates disorder. The Sith may conquer the Galaxy, but they will never rule it. The Jedi know better. As diminished as you are, you understand that you must maintain order. You must cooperate or fail. Revan understood that. He unified the Sith. But he is gone and they have fallen into chaos as the Republic slowly rebuilds its strength."

 

He considered this "I am no Jedi. However you do remind me of a Jedi in some ways. I expected a Sith to be so full of--" he pauses trying to think of what to say, "--well, emotions."

 

"And I have no passion? Perhaps this is the source of my weakness. But then, I am no longer a Sith. So passion is no longer my ally, if it ever truly was."

 

"You play your words like a Jedi, or maybe a very cunning Sith.."

 

"They are not so different," she says, "the Jedi and the Sith. Dark, Light, Sith, Jedi--two sides of the same coin."

 

He looks at her questioningly, "Are they the same?"

 

"The Force is the same. Every planet is lit upon one side and dark on the other. When the sun sets, are you on a different planet?"

 

"No but the conditions are certainly changed."

 

"They change and change back. Some planets, some moons, do not turn--one side is always light, one always dark. These worlds have no life. The Jedi try to stop their planet from turning and fail. This is their strength. The Sith try to stop their planet turning and succeed. This is their weakness."

 

Odd, very odd. He took a deep breath and stretched. "You have some interesting views, but unlike you I need to get some sleep. Perhaps we can continue our conversation later?" He needed some time to think over what she had said.

 

"I would enjoy that very much. Sleep well." She paused, seeming to weigh her next words "Sweet dreams," and then turned away from him.

 

He lingered for a moment before saying, "Goodbye," and walking away from her, back towards his room

 

________________________________________________________

 

 

 

The Escapist QoH Crew:

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

mshcherbatskaya (Erzabet and Nahila) – story creator and executive director in charge of making people re-write their stuff because she's the boss and she can

 

Tsurugi (Corev) – assistant director in charge of making us realize that this thing is getting really long and also kind of awesome

 

Qayin (Cain) – assistant director in charge of Emo

[Chevron 7 locke]

I really like this story. the plot is easy to follow and the plot is enjoyable

[The_Catto]

Oooh, Cain is thinking of leaving the Jedi me thinks. A smart decision for one such as he I believe. A better choice.

 

I'm the same with Chev and Rev and others when I say I like this story. It has a nice flow, and the characters are getting more in depth with each passing chapter.

 

I have particularly taken a liking to Ythros. Not sure why yet but theres just something appealing about that character. Interesting indeed.

 

Anyways .. nice chaps and awaiting for more.

[mshcherbatskaya]

Nahila looked up at Ketan as he entered the room. "Ah, I was just about to send for you. So... how is our 'guest'?

 

He had tried to rehearse this conversation somewhat, to prepare his points. "Very difficult. I could not get a word out of her."

 

"Really, she refused to speak?"

 

He sighed. "No. She didn't have a problem with talking. She just didn't say anything. Nothing of use at least."

 

This raised a bit of interest in Nahila. "What, an empty-headed chatterbox?"

 

"No, she sidestepped my questions,” Ketan shrugged and then slumped. He knew that Nahila was not the sort to berate him for it, but that hadn't stopped him from berating himself. “Every time I asked her something, she said just enough to answer without really answering anything. I can't tell if she is withholding information or just oblivious. She does it every time, without cease."

 

"Given her Sith background, the first is the most likely, don't you think?"

 

"Yes. However, I can't think of many options to test it one way or the other."

 

"What do you intend to do with her?” Nahila asked. Her tone was neutral but her concern regarding the answer was unmistakable. “Shall we keep her there?"

 

Ketan made a little gesture of uncertainty. "I doubt we will get any more progress in this situation.” He hesitated before continuing, “I have thought on the matter for a time and I keep coming back to the same conclusion." He hesitated again. The plan was entirely practical, he told himself before.

 

"And that is...?"

 

"I plan to test her by re-teaching her in the ways of the Jedi. From a Padawan, of course. I believe it should clear the fog she is accidentally or intentionally putting up."

 

Nahila sat back in her chair and frowned. "A Padawan? And what would you teach this Padawan of yours? She's not exactly a youngling or novice in the Force."

 

"It would be more a matter of testing than teaching,” he explained, relieved not to be simply refused without a chance to defend his idea, “If she is Sith, then she will surely slip in the training. If she is true in her words, then this is the first step toward the mutual goal of changing her ways."

 

Nahila considered this. "Hmmmmm. What will you do if she fails, if she is a Sith? What if she is more dangerous than we imagine her to be, what then?"

 

"Then I hope the Republic officer you placed your trust in will be enough to assist me in dealing with her plans."

 

"If anyone is enough in that case, it's Corev." She smiled, then paused once more in thought. “And yet, if we do not take the risk, how will we know?” Cocking an eyebrow at the door, she asked, “Do you know Cain? The Jedi out front, the returned Revanchist, the one who is twenty-eight and acts like he is eighteen?”

 

Ketan nodded. He might not have phrased it quite so bluntly, but he had to agree with her judgement. Cain, he knew, despised him for failing to join the battle against the Mandalorians, just as he despised the other “bureaucrats with lightsabers,” as he called them. Ketan would have remonstrated him for his lack of respect, but it would have served no purpose and Ketan disliked arguments. He had not fought in the Mandalorian Wars, and he had no intension of fighting about them. Conflict led to the Dark Side and was to be avoided at all costs.

 

“Well,” said Nahila, “he came stomping into my office yesterday, demanding that I release her. He said we were doing her a great injustice and giving a very bad example of those who claim to follow the Light. As much as I hate to admit it, he might have a point. If that is what she claims to be, then we are wrong to imprison her. If she deceives us...Well if she is deceiving us, how will we ever learn her plans if we keep her cooped up and restrained? And do we not profess that the Light is stronger than the Darkness? Do we still believe that? If so, then we may win her regardless, or at least defeat her."

 

Ketan nodded emphatically. "I agree. I believe this to be the first step towards her destiny, be it redemption or destruction."

 

"Her destiny and ours as well, perhaps. Perhaps in redeeming her, we will redeem ourselves.” Nahila looked down at her desk and her voice was filled with sadness. “We have lost our way, Ketan, and our faith in the strength of the Light Side. Who knows, if you succeed, perhaps you will heal the wound this war has inflicted on our order."

 

He paused himself for a moment. These thoughts, these regrets and these hopes, were his exactly. "I feel the same. As you said, if we manage to truly bring her to the Light, it will be a great victory. Do I have your consent then?"

 

Nahila sighed, more a release of tension than relief.

"Yes. Yes, go ahead and do it. I'll tell the guards, and have them wait for you to come release her."

 

"I am glad to see you agree. Take some leave for a bit,” he added a friendly smile. "You seem to need it. Remember, you said it yourself, this situation is in the good hands of both myself and your officer."

 

"You may find another pair of hands involved, whether you want them or not. I told Cain you were in charge of her. Prepare to have someone stomping into your office with a strong sense of justice and no sense of perspective. You've been warned."

 

He almost looked forward to the meeting. His confidence and determination could use another outlet.

 

"Thank you for the heads-up. He will find I am adamant in my thinking and I am taking my own course of action this time, whether he likes it or not."

 

"You know, I am almost hoping he does go storming after you. Perhaps you can set him a better example. If nothing else, you can keep him out of my office."

 

"Well, I must go about setting up precautions, plans, and whatnot." He smiled again to his old friend, though it was a worried smile. "And think seriously about taking a break. You look as if you have been awake for days."

 

"I have, Ketan. I have."

 

"Until later." He got up from the chair and walked out, already thinking of what needed to be set in order for this ambitious idea. He would forget this conversation though. Watch the woman carefully, be ready for Cain's inevitable challenge of his judgement, and make sure Nahila got some sleep.

 

...

 

Erzabet sits in her cell with the lights on. The lights are always on because they were on when she arrived. If they had never turned on the lights, it would be dark now. Light and dark are unimportant. Sleeping and Waking are important. Stillness and Movement are important, Visible and Invisible. Doll and Woman. Face and Mirror. The Force has no role in this. If she could use it now, if she did not wear the collar, these would be easier, more absolute in her command, but she learned these things before she learned the use of the Force, and she remembers everything she learns.

 

Visible or not is beyond her choosing. There is a camera that sees her wherever she goes and it does not care whether there is light, no more than she does. It is better to be Still. It is better to be a Doll. So she sits on the bed, like a toy left in a bedroom when a child is at school. Like a doll, if she were to lay down, her eyes would close. Sleep. She does not sleep, so she sits. She had a doll once. She left it on her bed and never came back for it. Such is the fate of dolls.

 

There is a clock here, which is somewhat strange. As a Doll, she in unaccustomed to time. There is only Now and Now and Now and Now, except when the little bell in the clock chimes the hour. Then for a short time, she is a Woman almost. She walks back and forth, relieving the tension of her muscles, the stiffness of her joints. She did not realize, before she was trained, that being Still was effort. The body slowly bends to the law of gravity. The muscles relax. The bones tip in their joints. Balance shifts. Such things are movement, slight but enough. To be Still is to refuse all this, to feel the strength of a planet pulling at her and refuse it.

 

Four times a day, to the chime of the clock, she uses the refresher. Once a day, she bathes and grooms her hair. Then she returns to the edge of the bed, and to Now and Now until the clock chimes and for a little while she moves again.

 

There is a person outside the cell who is like the clock. He comes, he looks at her for a moment, then returns to his chair and his Now and is still too. But he is not very good at it.

 

In the Now before (that too was a Now, but not this Now), a man came to see her. He had no face and therefore no desire for a Mirror, so she gave him her Face but he had no desire for that either. He was not Still. He writhed and burned like a flame, but could find no fuel in her and so he left.

 

In the Now before, two men came and looked at her. One came forward and the other stayed back. The one who came forward sought a Mirror and found it. The other who stayed back sought a Face and glimpsed one before the first man resumed turning this way and that before his own reflection. The first man could neither admire nor condemn what he saw. He became disappointed and left, and the other man followed.

 

In the Now before, the faceless man returned. He brought his face with him but refused to put it on. She remained Still, her surface unmarred by a single ripple. He sat in a Now of his own, a faceless man before a Mirror. What he saw there, she did not know. He left. He would come back. She would wait.

 

In the Now before, another man came while she sat upon the bed, Still. He sat upon the floor and could not be still. He sought a Mirror but could not bear to look into it at first. At last he looked, fell in love with the reflection he saw there and left.

 

In the Now before, the man who had come with the other man, the man who had stayed back returned, looking again for a Face. She chose one for him and displayed it. He examined it carefully and left.

 

In this Now, the quiet tones of the clock break the stillness and she stands and walks and stretches, and thinks of the faceless man as she does so. When she returns to sit on the bed, before she returns to being a Doll, she looks at the camera. There is someone there, watching through the camera's eye, someone she has not seen. She knows cameras. A camera is the eye of someone who wants something they cannot take yet. Whose eye watches her, and what do they want? She remembers the faceless man, takes off her Face, becomes the Mirror, looks up into the camera, and stares at the reflection of her reflection in the surface of the lens.

 

...

 

Ythros was back outside the cell.

 

Why? He really didn't know. He was a sea of confusion and conflict, and at the center of that sea, the only thing that remained constant was the image of that Sith. That thing. He hated himself for this... obsession. There was no other word for it. She was entrenched in his mind and for whatever reason was impossible to move.

 

He entered, taking up his spot on the wall, soon he would wear a visible imprint into it, he had been more and more frequent in his visits lately. He rarely came to look at the Woman anymore, simply to make himself feel content.

 

He was rage. He was anger. And he was alone. Alone in this turmoil.

 

He had been happy! As happy as he could be, anyway. He had a home, a purpose, and had been making progress on having an acquaintance. She had undone that. She had strode in and snapped the fine threads holding up all he had achieved and made him once again into the beast he had arrived as.

 

What gave her the right to seek what was impossible!

 

He snapped. "Why did you come here!? If you sought peace you chose wrong, if you sought forgiveness you sought poorly, and if you sought redemption then you are a fool!" He stormed forward and got as close as he could to the barrier. "There is nothing here for you... Nothing! Why come here seeking what you can never have!"

 

He stayed still waiting for an answer.

 

She looked into his eyes and spoke; "What did you seek to find here? If not what you can never have?"

 

And he was rage again. Rage, and utter, terrible confusion.

 

He stormed out, unable to answer.

 

...

 

Nahila was in her bed rather than at her desk, which was hypothetically an improvement but the fact remained, she was still working. The small holoprojector on her bedside table cast a flickering image above her blanketed knees, an image of a woman sitting motionless on the edge of a bed.

 

She pressed a button on the projector and skimmed forward through two or three hours of Erzabet doing what she did--sit, stretch, walk, sit. Her schedule was inflexible. She moved, used the refresher, ate at the exact same intervals. Nahila had played with that a bit, sent in meals on the hour, while Erzabet was active, then in the middle of the hour, while she sat. If the meal arrived early, it went cold waiting until the appointed time. If the meal was an hour late, then it was simply skipped, and she ate whatever happened to be there at the next designated meal time. Her schedule was utterly inflexible. There was only one thing that could interrupt it.

 

A visit from one of the Jedi.

 

Ketan visited twice daily, to talk to her, or rather lecture her on the path of the Light side. He had started with questions for her, but she simply bent them back upon him until he ended up answering all of them himself. Was it a conscious tactic though, or merely an ingrained defense acquired from a lifetime of living among the Sith?

 

Eventually, Ketan's questions withered away under their own futility, and Ketan fell back into lecturing. The path of the Light side took strength of will, strength of character, required dedication and the willingness to sacrifice one's own ambitions and desires to the greater good. Take his own path, for instance--he could have surrendered to his own impulse to join the wars, but he didn't because the Jedi Council forbade it. Now there were many who considered him and others like him to be cowards, or lackeys of the Council, but they did not understand he had chosen to stay behind because he trusted in the greater good of the Republic and the greater wisdom of the Council. Surely she must understand why he had chosen this path. Surely, she must understand what loyalty to the path of Light cost him. But, he assured her, it was worth it. She must never doubt it was worth it. His voice broke once as he said this. Poor man.

 

He was supposed to be her teacher, her confessor, but who was confessing to who? From the first, he had asked her help--"Give me something to work with"--and as time went on, he asked for her understanding, her validation, her approval. Who sought absolution in these conversations? Who sought to be redeemed from the past? Not the woman who sat unmoving and unmoved on the bed. Nahila should have removed him from the task, but what remained of his pride was so fragile, and she was learning so much about the both of them.

 

When Cain started showing up every day after his shift was over, Nahila had Corev replace Johanas as Erzabet's guard. That was his cover story, after all, so might as well start it now.

 

She was learning a great deal about Cain as well, about the fragility of his pride, about his loneliness. He remembered Corev from the wars apparently, which made Cain both more comfortable and more shy in his presence. Corev treated him with the same deference he showed all Jedi, and this increased both his confidence and his bashfulness.

 

With Erzabet, Cain was not different, exactly. He was all that he was with Nahila, but more. He was earnest, hopeful, humble, proud. He would alternately boast of his prowess in battle and then lament his ineffectiveness among the Jedi. He was also the only one with whom Erzabet would discuss her organization. Much of what she told him came uncomfortably close to indoctrination, and yet, there was nothing really to object to in what she said. Strength came through cooperation rather than conflict, that lasting success and great accomplishment came from unified effort. None of this was objectionable from a Jedi standpoint. Indeed, it should seem self-evident to any adherent to the Light Side. She quelled the instinct that told her to ban Cain from Erzabet's presence. He was getting valuable information out of her, and she was keeping him busy and quiet, and those were two things Nahila needed very much these days.

 

And then there was Ythros. Ythros, who would show up any time of day or night, who would stare at Erzabet for five minutes or three hours, who would sit motionless in front of her cell, statue inside, statue outside, who would pace back and forth, hissing between his teeth in agitation. Ythros, who now injured himself less and frightened everyone more than he had in years. Sometimes Ythros taunted her, sometimes she answered him. Corev kept an eye on them both and kept his hand off his weapon. He knew that any injury done to Ythros would more than likely hit everyone within 10 meters. Nahila could feel the tension, could feel the Force coiling more and more tightly around the ragged man with each encounter.

 

Nahila skimmed forward in the holo, overshot, backed up, and resumed playback on the incident Corev had reported to her 5 minutes ago.

 

It was Ythros, pacing back and forth in front of the cell, as though he were the animal in the cage and not Erzabet. He was snarling something at her through clenched teeth. Nahila couldn't make it out and she doubted even he knew what he was saying. Suddenly he turned, slammed the palms of his hands against the force field, and leaned on them, eyes closed, immersed in the pain.

 

That wasn't unusual. No doubt he was trying to calm himself with the electrical burn. Ythros, faced with anxiety, rage, sadness, or frustration, took comfort in the familiar, in pain. They knew this about him, it was not unexpected. What none of them expected was Erzabet's response. She rose and placed her palms over Ythros'. His eyes flew open and for a moment they stood there, eyes locked, flesh blistering against the current, until he staggered back with a snarl. She kept her hands up against the force field, watching him watch her burn, until Ythros turned and fled with a shriek of rage.

 

Corev quickly powered down the field, pushed Erzabet back to her seat on the bed, and began bandaging her hands with dressings from a nearby med kit, too absorbed in his task to even consider pursuing the screaming madman down the hall. Erzabet took no notice of her injuries or the man tending them. She simply sat on edge of the bed and stared at the place Ythros had been.

 

 

_____________________________________________________________

 

 

The Escapist QoH Crew:

 

CHAPTER SIX

 

mshcherbatskaya (Erzabet and Nahila) – story creator and executive director in charge of making people re-write their stuff because she's the boss and she can

 

Qayin (Cain) – assistant director in charge of Emo

 

Flanked (Ketan) – assistant director in charge of flaking out on his writing responsibilities

 

Ultrajoe (Ythros) – assistant director in charge of Epic

[The_Catto]

Even more mysterious than the chapter before hand, Erzabet's character is getting more and more intriguing.

I'm loving it. Especially the chapter where it described Now and Now.

Wonderfully done.

[mshcherbatskaya]

Nahila looked at the calendar. Almost a month now, and no surprise attacks, sabotage, or assassinations. Perhaps the Sith woman wasn't a threat. Or rather, Nahila reminded herself, perhaps the woman was not a Sith. Erzabet had warmed a little since the collar had come off. She was still unusually quiet and physically self-contained, but the unnatural stillness had melted away somewhat. She no longer spent all her free time staring motionless at the wall.

 

Ketan was certainly as happy as she'd ever seen him. His pupil was progressing quickly, much stronger in the Force now than when she had arrived. He might be overworking himself, however. He seemed a bit tired and occasionally irritable, especially when he was compelled to attend to duties that did not involve Erzabet. To the best that Ketan was able to manage it, the two were always together, meditating, studying, talking about the history of the Jedi and their philosophy. Or to be more precise, Ketan was doing the talking. He seemed to have given up on asking her questions about herself. Nahila wondered at that, if Ketan had given it up because of his repeated failure to get information out of her, or if he was simply focusing his energy on what seemed to be the most productive course of action. Regardless, Erzabet listened attentively, never taking her eyes off him when he spoke and questioning him (rather than the other way around) about his experiences and beliefs.

 

Although Ketan contrived to be at her side as much as possible, he did have to leave her occasionally, and though he did not know it, in those times, her Jedi education did not cease, it simply changed hands. Cain had decided to teach Erzabet a few combat skills.

 

There was a certain irony to that. Cain's lightsaber skills could be charitably described as adequate, but he'd developed a number of tricks of the Force to compensate for his lack of ability. Erzabet's lightsaber skills were worse than his--as she put it, she knew which end of the lightsaber to hold--so he could and did at least help her with the basics, and as her strength in the Force grew, so did her ability to employ Cain's techniques. This was all done on the sly, of course. Cain had offered himself to Ketan as Erzabet's sparing partner in her lightsaber training and been coldly rebuffed. It was much to soon for Ketan's padawan to even begin thinking of combat training. A row had followed, with several un-Jedi-like words exchanged, which Ketan had won by virtue of his official authority over Erzabet's education. Unofficially, her combat training had begun that afternoon the minute Ketan's back was turned. Ketan was so wrapped up in her, he didn't even notice the sneaking around, which seemed a bit odd. When he did find out, no doubt there would be a disturbance in the Force where he and Cain were concerned.

 

Nahila could have put a stop to it but instead chose not to interfere. If Ketan never asked his padawan questions about herself or her past, Cain never ceased asking. His infatuation was inappropriate in a Jedi, but useful because Erzabet answered him readily, though her answers were cryptic at times. It was an important source of information for Nahila, who continued to keep Erzabet under surveillance. It also kept him happy, which kept him out of the sulks and out of her office.

 

Over all this, Corev kept careful watch. Erzabet had been moved out of the detention block and into a small suite of rooms usually reserved for temple guests, an unheard of luxury for a padawan, but then a Sith Lord padawan was rather unheard of as well. Ketan had also been moved into an adjoining room in the suite, and Corev, as Erzabet's guardian, slept on the couch in her room. Erzabet spoke to him as well, but not as she did to Cain. Though it was always hard to read her face and manner, she seemed to respect Corev as an equal and sometimes they would pass the night together in conversation when neither of them could sleep.

 

Thus, with two teachers (one unofficial) and a bodyguard, Erzabet was never left unattended, and so Ythros confined himself to stalking and staring at her from a distance. Nahila had no idea why Ythros was so fascinated with that woman, and she would hazard a bet that Ythros had no more idea than she did. Did he believe she was still a Sith? If so, then why didn't he kill her? And if he did not think she was a Sith, why wasn't he indifferent to her as he was to everyone else?

 

…

 

Ythros was falling.

 

His room was a testament to his descent from 'grace', smashed furniture, filthy walls and discarded meals. The center was a clear patch of debris and in the center was Ythros.

 

Before Erzabet had come, he had made plans for redemption. They were so much dust now. He had been working on meeting with others... a goal now impossible. He had been attempting to find a place in the world, a dream now shattered. He had even been trying to foster a connection once again with the Force. That, most of all, burned his mind with its loss, The possibility of reconnecting with the Force.

 

Now, he was worse than ever, an animal inside his own mind and barely better without. He crept the halls and skittered away from human contact. Except for one. One, he sought merely to... to... GAH! To what!?

 

He was lost.

 

In the oppressive blackness and stench of his room, he focused on his indecision, a million voices inside his mind yelled at him, berating him and abusing his sensibilities. He was not mad. These voices were those that any secluded mind endures, but in the twisted synapses of a broken man, a shattered life. They were a cacophony of doubt and self-hate. In the exile alone, he was spiralling downwards.

 

In his mind he could only focus on one thing.

 

His knives. How easy it would be to stick them into the bitch. How simple to turn a corner and hurl one of the blades into her face. He had been on the verge of doing it a score of times, fingers dancing along the edge of the knife and opening his fingertips to the air. Obsession was all-consuming and he flailed wildly for any constant other than her presence in the aether of his conscience.

 

Ketan.

 

The traitor, the bastard who had thought he cold change a Sith and doomed him by releasing the witch. Confusion, warped by rage and desperation, became hate. All his indecision and lost thoughts channelled through broken logic and twisted connections.

 

He released her, and she had made him like this, broken him. He needed to put her back, he needed to get rid of this... this... this convolution in his mind!

 

Absent of actual reason, his mind found a purpose.

 

Ketan released her, She was destroying him, Ketan must die

 

Ythros cut his own tongue down the middle, barely stopping short of giving himself a serpent's split, and grinned through the blood that ran freely down his neck and chest.

 

Yes... That... W-would make eVErything Better...

 

...

 

She can feel him now, feel him burning, feel him writhe. He is too alive and cannot bear it. He does not know how to be Still. He tries to be human instead and it drives him mad.

 

How extraordinary you are!

 

He is so scarred, he is without scars. A scar is a disruption of the unity of the surface, and he is so so cut and crosshatched, the scars themselves are the surface, uninterrupted, a torn harmony that cannot be ruined, only embellished. His mind is a maze, a sandstorm, a nest of snakes. She could never take him for her own, even without the collar she could not, but he had thrown himself at her and so it was done.

 

They sat, hour after hour, the Faceless Man in front of the Mirror. Sometimes he would speak to her. Sometimes she would answer him. Sometimes he would see the shadow of his own face in the looking glass and flee. He wanted her to shatter, but like him, she could not be shattered any further.

 

He was alone. He wanted her to suffer, but Dolls feel no pain and no fear. Dolls do not suffer. And so he was alone.

 

That day he sat before the Mirror, and she knew that though he would not see his face in her, he would see his pain in her if he could. He did not know she was a Doll. He threw himself against the force field, he hands visibly blistering, and she knew.

 

He was going to give her his wounds.

 

She stepped forward and, mirroring, put her hands over his. The connection, the terrible intimacy through which he intended to give her pain, reached past the barriers of her collar and his madness. Her hands blistered. She remained Still.

 

The pain he wished to give her, she took from him. She took it from him, the choice to give pain, the choice to receive it. It was the only thing that was still truly his, other than rage. She took it from him. She kept it. He left, screaming with the rage of having been once again torn in half.

 

He can feel her now, feel her sink below the surface, feel her float. She is a Doll, she is not alive, she can bear anything. She can be still. She has ceased to be human and it has given her peace.

 

...

 

"I was considering starting out small - light and small, easy to lift, manipulate, twirl around the room. But in the same way lifting pens up and down wouldn't give you biceps, doing so with the Force wouldn't do much to strengthen your connection."

 

Cain stood in the center of the room he and Erzabet used to train, contemplating the purple glow of his lightsaber as he spoke.

 

"I love this weapon - not just the sheer power of it, though. As a weapon, it is elegant, forceful, almost beautiful. As a symbol, however, it is without equal. The sight of a lightsaber alone commands respect from your allies, and fear in your foes."

 

The purple hue retreated into the hilt as he deactivated the saber.

 

"In comparison to the Force, however, it is useless. It is nothing more than an impressive tool. It even relies on the Force. To wield this weapon without complete awareness of your surroundings is dangerous to both you and those around you."

 

Cain's eyes were without focus as he lost himself in a memory, smiling to himself. "In the war, I witnessed a Mandalorian get cocky, take out a lightsaber he must have looted off one of our fallen. Wasn't long before he'd lopped his other hand off, misjudged the weight of the thing."

 

Regaining his composure, he turned to Erzabet, who sat at one edge of the room, seemingly attentive, but silent. It made him rather nervous, to be truthful, as if he was talking to himself and she was casually eavesdropping.

 

"A Force-user learns to separate themselves from the battle, to view themselves and their surroundings with a cold, disconnected clarity. To do otherwise is to give in to fear, to dread or cowardice. We wave around weapons that could cut clean through us with what appears to be reckless abandon. We perform acrobatic feats and elegant movements that should not be attempted with a normal blade, let alone one comprised of pure energy. What we do with this weapon is not down to physical conditioning and trained reflexes, as those can only do so much."

 

Cain casually walked to the edge opposite Erzabet, and stopped next to what appeared to be a large cube of crushed metal. "No, what we do, we do with the Force, that ubiquitous energy. We are but human, we cannot rely on our weak, fragile bodies to control such a weapon, to tame such a blade. Where our physical limits end, our metaphysical power begins. Therefore, to learn of our combat, you must first have a deep comprehension of, and connection to, the Force."

 

He pointed at the cube. "If you were to strengthen your physical muscles, you could lift weights. Therefore to strengthen your metaphysical muscles, I thought you could lift several weights that I compressed into a cube, with the Force. I am not a teacher, nor am I particularly eloquent, and it would be difficult for me to 'instruct' you in the use of the Force, even if I could. Even if I was able to do so, it could not compare to the experience, the triumph of will over matter. All you need to know, is that your arm does not stop at the fingertips. It carries on, unseen to you, and encompasses that cube, just as the air does. That arm knows few physical limits with practice, and whereas you or I could not lift this cube with our physical arms, we may do so with our metaphysical ones."

 

Cain paced back, to Erzabet's side, and continued, "I do not expect you to be able to lift the cube, not today. But I am hoping that being unable to - failure in itself - will strengthen you."

 

Despite his outward appearance, Cain was in pain. From his eyes to his toes, he ached, and he felt it might have had something to do with the fact that he had stopped sleeping. He felt tired, so very exhausted, but sleep would not come. Cain had even stopped trying to sleep. It had been many days since he had even gone into his room, all of his time spent 'training' Erzabet the best he could, or stalking Ketan and waiting to train Erzabet. Cain feared that he was breaking down, that he was going mad - but he felt happy, the happiest that he had been in a long time. He knew that he was lacking as a teacher but he had the knowledge, and he could help her find that knowledge for herself. It was a shame that he had to do so behind Ketan's back, as it greatly inconvenienced Cain to have to skulk about, to teach only when there was a gap in the Master's schedule, but he got a simple thrill out of tricking the high-and-mighty Jedi.

 

If Cain held resentment towards Ketan, then he was not aware of it. He was annoyed that he had been refused formal tuition of Erzabet, but he was not angry at Ketan for refusing so bluntly - it was to be expected, in fact. He was far more worried about the scarred one, Ythros. It was disturbing when he would rage his way around the Temple, but now that he had taken to stalking his way around Erzabet, Cain was becoming concerned that he might be an actual threat, that he might have decided Erzabet was nothing more than a Sith to be butchered.

 

Instead of continuing with the training, Erzabet considered the Jedi;

 

"Why do you not sleep?"

 

Had his eyes been capable of it, they may have shown surprise. However, all that appeared was a confused blink. “To tell the truth, I do not know, I just simply...do not, at least, not anymore. Is it that obvious?"

 

"I do not know if others see it. I do not know if they look to see. I see. I can Heal, did you know that? Before I knew what the Force was, I Healed. Perhaps that is how I know."

 

Cain raised an eyebrow. “A healer? Amongst the Sith? I spend most of my time here or near your suites, Erzabet, I am aware that you yourself do not sleep. Why not heal yourself?"

 

"I do heal myself. I would have died if I did not. I do not sleep by choice. You, however, do not choose this."

 

"No, I do not. And I do not see why you would, or eve how you do so. There are ways through the Force to shut down the body, to nearly stop bodily functions - a form of stasis through meditation. But...to have complete awareness during such a process? How did you learn such a thing?"

 

"One learns by necessity. Is that not how you learned to use the Force in battle as you do? But there are times that I must sleep, when I can no longer choose otherwise."

 

"My understanding of the Force is...difficult to describe, but describable nonetheless. What you do...seems impossible? And surely when you must sleep, it is a blessing, to finally do so after such a long time without it?"

 

"If it was, I would not chose to forego it."

 

Cain considered this. He did not want to pry, but there was one thing above battle that he yearned for, and that was understanding - to know the Force, to completely comprehend the connection he had, no matter how limited or strong it became. He pressed on. "I had assumed that sleep was impractical for you, but you make it sound as if it is unpleasant...why? What could be so unpleasant that it becomes necessary to defy biological imperatives?"

 

"It is unpleasant to dream."

 

"What dreams could possibly make sleep a terrible thing?"

 

"Dreams of the necessity to learn to Heal."

 

"You...you speak of being harmed?"

 

"No,” she said with gentle emphasis, “I do not speak of it."

 

She would not go on, refused to discuss it further. Cain was disappointed, and scolded himself for it. He had come close enough to new knowledge that he was willing to put this woman, who he idolized so much, through her troubled past. No answer was worth that, no matter how his curiosity grew, and if it was discussed again, it would be on her grounds, her terms and wishes, not his.

 

Cain sighed - a healing Sith, a seemingly psychopathic stalker, a Republic Veteran serving as a bodyguard, and Cain caught up in the far too confusing events. At least things were becoming interesting.

 

Erzabet was not finished, however. Cain's eyes grew weary with that sigh, and whether Erzabet took advantage of this, or whether it was simply a sign that it was the right time was irrelevant. Regardless of her motive, she healed.

 

She rose, put one hand on his forehead, brushed it down his face to close his eyes, and simply told him to sleep.

 

It was not as much of a command as it was an authoritative prophecy, as if he would sleep, not due to her wishes, but because she had healed him, and therefore, when night came, he would sleep.

 

And that night, he slept.

 

…

 

The droid twitched, sparking madly as the knife found its way into its processing core. Arms flailed and tread whirred as it battered its assailant with the service tray welded to its forearms. It was pointless, this predator had mastered pain.

 

Ythros tore apart the droid and scattered its parts around his room, little more than a nest now. Parts from at least three other droids were strewn about the dank corners and he shuffled them out of the way. He didn't take the droid out of malice, but fear. He was all fear, paranoia had replaced doubt, terror had superseded all notions of caution and he killed anything that approached his room. Anything that might discover his plots to murder the one thing his twisted mind had found proof enough to call the architect of his misery.

 

Ketan

 

He had almost struck a dozen times, skulking in shadows in torn robes, but that sycophant Cain kept him separated from his goals. Tailing the pair the fool always prevented his clean attack.

 

Cain would be next, he taught the witch how to bite and he conspired with them towards his undoing.

 

His mind needed no proof at this stage, his obsession had led to anger. anger had led to fear. Fear led to desperation and desperation had degenerated into paranoia and madness. All he saw now were threats, threats to his life and possibility of redemption. Oddly enough, he never turned his ire towards its center, the woman Erzabet... She was merely a constant in his mind, a gaping wound in his perceptions and all around that gash he saw foes and feints.

 

He was broken upon his fears.

 

And now they give her a lightsaber. Her! A Sith! When he had been their ally for years! No, not an ally... he saw that now... a pet, a servant and a weapon... A tool to show their young what could go wrong...

 

In truth, he had no lightsaber because he had not the Force ability to wield it. But his mind in its current state twisted it around his mental infection into another spar of hate. The wound in his consciousness made every chance for reason another place madness could storm his soul.

 

But worse in his mind, was the sense of being lost. He felt all this hate and rage, all this fear and terror, but had nowhere to direct it. Nowhere his mind could direct it, anyway. And so his mind returned to a ready-made outlet and focused once again into a lance.

 

Now, it had to be now. He must strike, or surely die.

 

 

__________________________________________________________

The Escapist QoH Crew:

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

mshcherbatskaya (Erzabet and Nahila) – story creator and executive director in charge of making people re-write their stuff because she's the boss and she can

 

Qayin (Cain) – assistant director in charge of Emo

 

Ultrajoe (Ythros) – assistant director in charge of Epic

[Endorenna]

Okay, I've fallen behind here a bit. I just finished reading chapter 6. Very interesting about the whole 'Now' and 'Face' and 'Mirror' stuff. How the heck did you write that??

 

 

I'll read chapter 7 ASAP!

[mshcherbatskaya]

My co-writer was just noting that I have a bit of a flare for freaky psychology. I don't know if it's a takes one to know one, but I'm glad it works, however it works.

 

Thanks! The readership for something like this is pretty limited, I think, so it's nice to know that people are following along.

[Ultrajoe]

I have particularly taken a liking to Ythros. Not sure why yet but theres just something appealing about that character. Interesting indeed.

 

Aww shucks, you'll make me blush.

 

Actually, now that i have indeed registered i feel a bit silly. Given that Msh is posting everything up i am resigned to sit and twiddle my Ultrathumbs. Oh well, i can respond to all you're juicy, juicy congratulations anyway.

 

And now that i have, i am once again lost for what to do... I suppose i could type some more.

 

It is odd to re-read some of this stuff, as i'm typing up a part of the plot that's rather advanced into the future, it's like a time machine with windows and no minibar.

 

Ah well, if nothing else i can post directly into the thread if we ever do a QoH sequel here (it's regular haunt tends to ignore it as an oddity that resurfaces every few days for a single post. That nobody but us ever reads).

 

I any case, i hope you enjoy the QoH to come. One of my favorite bits is soon to take place, i'm practically fatally sick with anticipation.

[Rev7]

Sorry that I haven't been posting regularly, I have just been so busy with school. Finals are coming up pretty quick here.

 

Anyways, I am all caught up, and I have to say that the chapters are just getting better and better. Good job guys! I love the mystery that is shrouded around Erzabet. Again, very nice job, and I look forward to more chapters!

[Darth SINner]

finally i read all the chapters. this is one hell of a story and i can't wait for the next chapter.

[The_Catto]

Ythros .. is freakin awesome. The best character I have seen in a LONG time!

Well done people! Well done indeed!!!!

Keep it up cause I WANT TO READ MORE!!!!!!!

 

 

Oh, and Ultrajoe ... kudo's on the awesome Avi ...

But I prefer Paladin Cecil to Dark Knight Cecil....

 

But Edge and Rydia will always be all time fav's of that game

 

Anyways ... As said ... MORE!!!!!

[Tsurugi]

Thought I would jump on the bandwagon here. I love all the feedback this is getting here, and hope that some people are as hooked on this as I am, even though I am in it.

[The_Catto]

^ ^ ^ Well, hurry up and let them all know that we want more of this story!

[Tsurugi]

Very very sad that not all of the chapters ended up getting posted here and that the Story itself never got finished.

 

Reading through all of this again brought back some amazing memories. Somehow I had forgotten exactly how awesome of an experience this was. When you come back and read something you helped write with shivers the whole time, you can't help but smile. I know that the people who helped write this will probably never see this post but I felt like I had to say something. This story had such great potential, and is my favourite SW story ever, it is sad that we will never experience the ending we had planned.

[The_Catto]

Why'd it stop? It was flowing so well, I thought?